


Bare: But I Derail the Plot For the Sake of a Happy Ending

by FishHeadMan



Category: Bare: A Pop Opera, Bare: A Rock Musical, bare a pop opera
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Corgis, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LOTS of Catholicism, M/M, TW: Conversion Therapy mention, lots of gay jokes, modern!AU, nobody dies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishHeadMan/pseuds/FishHeadMan
Summary: Do you want to pretend that Bare: A Pop Opera has a happy ending? Me too!





	1. Jason

**Jason**

I'm supposed to keep kissing her.

That's what your supposed to do, when you kiss a girl. Keep kissing her.

Her mouth is really wet, and she's running her hand through my hair. Pretty violently, actually.  
She's really into it.

I'm really into it. I'm supposed to be really into it.

I moan a little, in the back of my throat, because that’s what you do when you kiss a girl, and she pushes her other hand under my shirt.

Yep. This is happening. It's fine. I'm fine.

If I do this, it'll fix me - I moan again, and push back on her a little.

She moans back.

Of course she does. She's into it. I'm into it.

She's so pretty. Her mouth is so small and cute, and her hair is curly, and her eyes are blue, just like Peters.

For a minute I let my mind drift to peter, and I lean onto her and push her against the bed, just like with peter, and she giggles, just like peter, and I open my eyes and look at her and smile.

And she's so pretty, but in a way that is so different than the way peter is pretty, and it sort of makes me want to cry. Instead I laugh a little and go back to kissing her. Because I’m not supposed to be thinking about Peter at all right now.

Peter is the whole problem - well, not Peter. I can't blame Peter for the fact that I'm - sick? Broken? Just, probably really kinky. That’s probably it.

And thinking about Peter right now, while I’m licking Ivy’s mouth out, is just as bad as fucking Peter.  
God though, I wish I was plastering myself onto him instead of Ivy. He always smells like vanilla and he’s a much better kisser - but that's the whole goddamn problem.

I run my hand down her jaw and she grabs my fingers with her tiny ones, and I will myself to moan again but she gently pushes me off of her.

"Jason, your shaking."

I laugh automatically. "I skipped lunch," I smile and kiss her right underneath her ear.

I didn't even think about that lie before I said it. God.

"No, stop." She pushes me properly and I sit up, disappointed and relieved at the same time.

Disappointed.

Not relieved, I'm disappointed.

"Are you into this?"

"God, of course -" I lean in and vacuum seal myself back to her face, and she laced her fingers back through my hair - and her hands are so much tinier than boys hands and her mouth is so wet and small.

"Nope." I blurt it out, pulling my face away from hers.

God, I never think before I fucking speak.

"What?" She looks up at me through her long-ass eyelashes, and her lips are all big and red and, god.

Disappointed. She's probably disappointed.

"I uh. Um. No."

"Jason- what?"

"I- I'm sorry Ivy. I think I - I’m in love with someone else. You're so pretty, amd um. I'm just sorry. I don't-"

She awkwardly laughs, “oof. Um. Fair, I guess.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugs, "It's cool. I mean, sad, but cool.” She pauses, “we've been friends since we were twelve. I'll recover."

We both laugh a little, and I see her straighten her shirt.

Disappointed.

"It's Kyra, right?"

I almost say 'what the fuck' out loud, but instead I laugh. "Kyra, really?"

She giggles, "what's wrong with Kyra?"

"Is it bad...if I say her like, face...situation?"

Ivy laughs, "god, I mean, sort of."

I laugh and stare at the floor.

"Is it...Tanya?"

"Isn't she dating Lucas?"

She shrugs, "I mean, yeah." She pauses to look at me, "god, is it Diane?"

I laugh again, "fuck no. I mean, I know we're all Catholic, but she's... _Catholic_."

"Oh god," laughs Ivy, nudging me again, "I've figured it out. I know. It's Matt."

I laugh and cough at the same time, nervous and empty and dry in the middle. Shit.

She sort of laughs back, but not like anything’s funny. “It’s not actually Matt, is it?”

"It's- Um. Peter."

Fuck. Me.

God, do I not have a brain? Am I actually incapable of intelligent thought? Fuck. My voice cracked when I said it too, like the pathetic shit I am. God.

I watch Ivy's smile fall.

"What?"

I choke before I say it, but then it comes out all at once: "I'm in love with Peter."

"Oh...god." She sounds concerned.

"I don't know what to do," everything comes spilling out, "he's just- he's so pretty and sweet and he - he smells good and god. I just - I just thought that if I had sex with you it might like, it might fix me - like, if I could just hit a button and fix...this I would - or I wouldn't - god because then I wouldn't have Peter and without Peter what's the fucking point."

"You were using me to fix you?"

"God, Ivy, I'm so sorry."

She sighs. "I would be more upset if you weren't so deeply fucked."

I laugh half a laugh, mostly just a puff of air, "I know."

"Is Peter....?"

I laugh again, "No, no, of course not."

I'm a dumbass but I'm not outing peter. Not even to Ivy. Like, never ever. Ever.

"Oh." She glances at me like I'm wounded animal. God. "So you're just, secretly in love with your best friend."

"Yup."

Such tragedy. Such unrequited love. As if I didn't have my hands down his pants just last night.

Ugh. That's the fucking problem though, isn't it? I'm a piece of shit.

"I could...is it just Peter you like, or...are you-"

"Yup. Yes. Yeah I am."

"Oh. Maybe you could try with a different girl?"

I shrug, "maybe."

She bumps my shoulder again. "I could pray for you."

God. I think she says it just because that's what your supposed to say. I don't think she knows what else to do.

Honestly, I didn’t know Ivy prayed.

I chuckle, "that hasn't...worked yet."

"I could try anyway."

I nod, "prolly do."

We pause for a second.

She shrugs "I mean, we're all going to hell anyway."

I laugh and bump her shoulder back, smiling. "Wow Ivy. Thanks."


	2. Peter

**Peter**

Jason's still asleep, I think.

I switch the light off in the bathroom and pad back to our bed - its my bed, technically, but it's the one we ended up sharing this year, because it's close to the window.

I stop for a second before getting in and watch the fog roll around the trees outside. It's about four AM.

I'm going to be a wreck tomorrow, but I can't fall asleep.

Jason's back - I say back like he was gone for more than a few hours, but whatever. Back.

He dumped me quite passionately this time. And he left, and I cried because he ditched me alone with all that shit he said, and then two hours later he came back and dropped his head in my lap and said he was so, so sorry. And I took him back because his hands are big, and his hair is soft, and because I love him desperately and knew he was a dumbass when we started dating.

He didn't _actually_ sleep with Ivy. It's fine.

I carefully crawl over him and back under the blankets - gymnastics in a twin dorm bed - and wrap myself around him.

He sighs and melts into me a little, and I hug him tight with my arm and he makes a little happy sound in his sleep.

He's never like this when he's awake. Or, at least, not anymore. He always freezes for a minute - freezes when we cuddle, freezes when I kiss him - like just for a second he's thinking about weather or not he can let himself go through with it.

He always goes through with it, though. I can feel him make some excuse to himself and then relax into my arms like it's where he's supposed to be. And then we cuddle and kiss and pull each others clothes off, and once we get there we never stop, and then a few days later he panics and tries to quit me like he's quitting cigarettes.

But he always comes back. Today's not even the shortest time we've been broken up (i say broken up, but it feels closer to swearing-off than breaking up). I think our record was last year, we broke up for ten minutes.

Someday he's not going to come back.

I know this. I’ve sort of always known. When we started it was all ‘I love you,’ ‘you're my soulmate,’ all that. Everything was cuddles and safety and him telling me that it was fine because it was us. But he seems to believe it less and less the older he gets, and now he keeps breaking up with me. He never says he loves me anymore.

And I hold him tighter because ‘someday’ sort of just means graduation.

Not sort of. Really.

We're going to different schools, and I haven't told him yet. Thinking about it makes my guts curl up, and it makes me feel so lonely and sad all at once - but I'm alone and sad every time he leaves me. And when we graduate and 'someday' comes, I think it would be better to just pull the bandaid off.

Which means, for me, moving to California.

I got into Berkeley.

I thought it over a while ago - I'm sort of just leaving everyone. I'm gonna come out to my mom over spring break (and maybe throw up), and then I'm going to come out to everyone else. And then everyone's probably going to hate me, and I'm going to leave. I'm just- I'm done. I'm moving-to-California type done.

I can feel my stomach twisting around just thinking about it, but my stomach twists the same way thinking about going to Notre Dame with Jason, so screw it.

It feels a little like I'm planning to throw a match at a gas station and run.


	3. Jason

**Jason**

It's the first night back from spring break, and I'm laying on Peter's stomach because it's comfy.

I know he was planning on coming out to his mom, but I don't think he did. I mean, I sure as hell can’t blame him. I don’t think I’ll ever come out.

Well, except to Ivy I guess.

It's like midnight, and he's on Pinterest, as one does.

“What about this one?” He flips his phone at me - it's a little yellow house with a cherry tree and a lattice out front.

“Umm...eight?”

As in 8/10.

“Only an eight?”

“Yeah, there's a cherry tree.”

“What's wrong with a cherry tree?”

I sigh a little, “it gets cherries all over the yard.”

“But you get free cherries.”

“Yeah, all over your yard.”

He laughs, and I hear him tap at his phone to pin the picture anyway.

It's a thing we've been doing since we were little - Peter finds a picture of a house on Pinterest, and we rate it. When we were little, we rated it while arguing about what kind of dog we each wanted - not that we would live together or have the same dog, of course - but we always had to agree.

We've been doing it a lot less lately.

“What about this one?” Peter flips his phone again.

It's actually an apartment this time. A shitty one. Like a realistic, college-ie shitty one.

Peter doesn't do realistic.

“It's...two? The carpet's blue.”

“Yeah, the carpet’s sort of tragic.”

I nod into his tummy, waiting.

“It's in California.”

Yup, there it is.

“I, um, actually…” he sits up, and then I have to sit up because he's taken away his stomach.  
He fiddles with his hands, “I decided I'm gonna go to school at Berkeley. Like, in California.”

“...oh,” I swallow hard.

“I just don't want to go to Catholic school anymore.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

I don't feel anything. I'm sort of sad but mostly I don't feel anything.

Disappointed?

I'm supposed to be dissapointed.

“I just,” he keeps going, “I want to be myself. And I can't...at Notre Dame.”

“Yeah.”

Am I angry? Am I supposed to be angry? I don't know.

“Where are you,” I stutter, “...are you gonna live there? With the blue carpet?”

He sort of laughs, shrugging at me, “I'm gonna live in the dorms the first year. All the freshman have to.”

“Well I guess we can't share a dorm any more then.”

He kind of laughs, but mostly he looks confused.

“Jace, we wouldn’t have -”

I half jump him before he can finish, splashing myself down next to him and throwing my arm around his shoulders and grabbing his phone.

“So how far is this apartment from campus?”

“I don’t? I don’t know? I can’t get an apartment anyway, I have to live on-”

“No, no, listen,” I turn to look at him. He seems stunned. “I’m going to live in the tragic, awful apartment, and then you can like, come by and I’ll make you scrambled eggs. And you can do your laundry and pet my dog, and do all the things you can’t do in your dorm.”

He stares at me for a second.

I think we both know I’m full of shit (I hope he knows I’m full of shit), but I hug his shoulders and keep going. “Like, I’ll get a job at jamba juice or some shit, and um, I’ll have no money for food. Because I’ve never had a job before, and I don’t know how to live alone. So I’ll probably die or something, but it’ll be fun for a while.”

Peter laughs, “god, you don’t even know how to do laundry or anything, do you?”

“Hell no.”

We both sort of giggle, and he shrugs, “I don’t either.”

“God, we’re both fucked.”

He leans his head on my shoulder and wiggles it until it’s comfortable. “I wish you would though. Like, move to California. Get a dog. Or, I guess I wish I wasn’t going? I don’t know. I just wish...we could.”

“I’m sorry.”

I mean it.

“It’s okay.”

We both stare into the dark for a minute.

“I hope you find a nice girlfriend.”

“What?”

“That’s what you want, right?”

There’s a quiet bite in his voice I didn’t expect, but it’s fair. Something inside me sort of gives up.

“I - I guess.”

He sighs, then lays down and pulls me closer to him, wrapping his legs around me like a monkey.

“Just,” he settles his face against my collarbone - he’s so wiggily in bed - “just, shut up, okay?”

“Alright.”

God.

I stare at the ceiling for a long time after that, until Peter wiggles off me and then onto his back and then into some absurdly uncomfortable, half-off-the-bed position.

To be fair, it’s a twin bed. Sneeze and you’re halfway off it.

Our ceiling has this huge ass crack in it, and watch it, willing it into imaginary shapes.

I’ve asked Peter before if he still believes in God. He said he thinks he does. He said it’s because when he was a kid, he knew God loved him, and he could feel it. Back then it wasn’t even a question. And when he was a kid, he also knew that he liked playing with dolls, and painting his nails, and following his friend Aiden around. And if God loved him then, and Peter didn’t question it, why should he question it now?

He said he has a hard time keeping faith sometimes. But when he can’t, he thinks of how faith felt as a kid, and he feels better.

I wonder sometimes if ‘having faith like a child’ means hating yourself less.

Or having everyone else hate you less. I think that would work too.

I don’t know if I still believe in God.

Honestly, I don’t know if I did as a kid.

I’ve thought about hell a lot though. Turns out, nothing makes you think harder about hell than giving your roommate a blowjob. Like, eternity means forever and forever doesn’t end, but eternity is nothing in the face of a boner.

Really though, when you’re pushing your roommate up against your bedroom wall, unforgivable sin and unending pain don’t seem so bad. That is, until he’s asleep and your staring at the crack in the ceiling, thinking about it too hard.

Because forever means forever, and hell’s going to hurt, and was it really worth it?

It gives me a stomach ache.

I remember when we were kids, and it was all fine. The first time I kissed him we were thirteen, and he kissed me back and it was all so simple. Well, for me. He broke down crying, but I pulled him into a hug, and told him it was all okay.

Because there were lots of creepy old men who were gay, but we weren’t creepy old men, so we weren’t gay. We were us. And we were just kissing. And of course God loved us, and of course Peter’s parents didn’t break up because he was a ‘fag,’ and I could be like, his boyfriend and take care of him. And he stopped crying and I said us kissing could just, sort of be practice for when we kissed girls.

We never got around to kissing girls.

I feel like that’s sort of a given.

A year later, father gave a sermon about the dangers of homosexual temptation and I missed my first class and threw up in the bathroom.

And then I tried not to think about it for the next three years, unless it was two AM and I was staring at the crack in our ceiling, imagining what it would feel like for God to hate me. I used to wonder a lot if fire would stop hurting if you sat in it long enough (plot twist, it wouldn’t, because hell is supposed to hurt forever and ever and ever).

Sometimes I don’t know if I believe in God, or if I just believe in hell. Which is stupid.

Does it matter though? Because I’m in love with Peter.

God. It does matter, because I _do _want Peter, and his weird sleeping positions, and morning breath, and yellow house with a cherry tree (even though that’s stupid), but I also want God. I want to go to heaven (honestly anywhere that’s not hell), and I want my parents, and I want to be ‘out’ without probably getting kicked out of school.__

__And I want to hold Peters hand in public and take him home for Christmas and get a shitty little apartment with him. And a corgi, even though I think corgis are a little ridiculous looking._ _

__He loves corgis, and I would love to get one if it would make him happy. And I would love to stop at Starbucks with him before long road trips to see family, and I would love to argue with him over what color a rug for our house would be, because we have very different taste in interior design._ _

__I would let him win. I mean, we have very different taste in interior design but his is objectively better. Objectively._ _

__But it doesn’t matter. Because none of that is ever going to fucking happen. Because my father would beat the shit out of me and then disown me, and my mother would cry and then disown me, and then we’d both get kicked out of highschool and then be homeless. And then we’d go to hell._ _

__And Peter doesn’t see that because Peter doesn’t do realistic._ _

__God._ _

__At least someday I’ll be dead. Ha._ _

__Like, I could just fucking kill myself. But then I’d go to hell. See, this late at night it always comes back around to that._ _

__Dear god. Actually, the sun is coming up. That happened fast._ _

__Fun fact, Peter’s eyes are the exact blue of a cloudy sunrise. Like, six AM snowstorm blue. The sky is a little too grey for that right now though._ _

__I swing my legs out of bed and sit up, and it’s strikingly cold which makes my upset stomach worse._ _

__I glance at Peter, and he’s a disaster and so very pretty, and I want him so bad but I also just want to throw up. I just, I want it to all be okay. I want to be able to keep him and I want it all to be okay._ _

__I used to wonder if it was all...forgivable. If father could forgive me. If God could forgive me. This._ _

__I feel like God could forgive Peter._ _

__Peter’s just so good and adorable and sweet._ _

__God._ _

__I’m going to go talk to Father. He’s always up at sunrise anyway, and I want...I want him to tell me I’m not going to hell, I think._ _


	4. Peter

**Peter**

When I blink awake, the first thing I see is clouds. God, the sun’s barely up.

I glance around for Jason to see if he’s awake, but the bed’s empty and I feel my stomach drop. That’s when I realize my phone’s ringing - it probably has been this whole time - and I see her caller ID and pick up.

“Nadia?”

“Yeah - Peter, can you come collect your boyfriend?”

“Excuse me?” I jump in bed, my voice leaping up three octaves.

I hear Ivy in the background, “Is there some circuit in your brain that forces you to be a bitch?”

I hear Nadia back, “God I’m sorry, what do you want me to call him, Peter’s personal fuckboy?”

“Excuse me?!” I chirp.

“God Nadia-” It’s a boy’s voice.

“Is that Jason?”

It’s Nadia again, “yeah, I thought I made that clear.”

“What, Nadia-”

She cuts me off, “Listen, he says you’re not gay, so this your chance to hop back into the closet if you want.”

At least there’s that?

I swallow hard, “Nadia slow down. What’s going on?”

“Jason told Father that he’s gay.”

Shit.

“Okay,” I say it like I’m calm, kick my blankets off, and bounce out of bed. I grab a hoodie and slip on my shoes - I leave the rest, I can run across campus in spongebob pajama pants at 5:45 am, no one will care. “He told him in confession, right?”

“Nope.”

I feel something anxious and awful inside me inflate. I walk out into the hall and skip down the stairs, “But he like, asked to keep it confidential, right?”

I can hear the anxious, awful thing in her voice too, “Nope.”

“Oh...can I, um, talk to Jason?”

“Yep.”

I’m outside now. It’s nippy and there’s frost on the grass, which sort of doesn’t matter but it’s pretty.

“Hey Peter,” Jason sounds nervous.

“Hey Jace, what...what happened?”

I hear him sigh a little, “I don’t know. I just freaked out, and…I just freaked out. I freaked out but it’s over and it’s fine.”

God, Jason. Honestly.

I hear Nadia in the background, “It’s not fine, you were fucking crying an hour ago.”

He never cries.

“Jason?”

“I just really wanted to go to California. Like we talked about. And-” I can hear his voice crack, “and get a Corgi. It was dumb, but I thought...I thought that Father could....”

I’m in the girls dormitory and halfway up the stairs, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m-”

“He called our parents.”

I stop in my tracks, “Our?”

“I swear to God I didn’t say a thing about you. I swear.”

“Oh-Okay. Okay. I’m- just a sec.” I hang up the phone and run up the last few steps, then around the corner and three doors down. I knock, but then open the door before anyone answers.

“Hey,” I say, like we weren’t all talking a minute ago.

Everyone’s in their pajamas. Ivy’s sitting criss-cross applesauce on her bed, looking...concerned. Nadia and Jason are sitting on her bed, as joke-y as Nadia was being on the phone, she’s pale as a rain cloud in real life. And then there’s Jason, who jumps up when I walk in. He has his ‘I have this under control’ face on, but he’s clearly been crying.

“Hey Peter,” he says tentatively.

“Hey,” I glance around and then go and sit down next to Ivy. Jason sits back down next to Nadia and we glance at each other cautiously.

As much as I want to go sit with him and wrap him up in a hug, right now doesn’t seem like a good time.

“Father called our parents?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason starts.

“No, it’s okay.” I mean, it’s sort of really awful actually, but also probably not Jason’s fault. “He called my mother?”

He’s staring intensely at the floor, “Yup.”

“Why? You said you didn’t tell him...”

Ivy cuts in, “Hold up - didn’t tell him what?”

Jason keeps going, “I didn’t. I just was talking about...how I was, and he just assumed, because we’re roommates, and we spend so much time together,” he looks up at me, “I told him you weren’t, I told him. But he called Clare anyway. I’m so sorry Peter. I just, I wanted to talk to someone about it.”

I nod, queasy. “I mean, my mother already knows, at least.”

“You told her?” Jason sounds more terrified than excited.

“Not...not really. But like, she knows, I think.”

Jason nods at me and goes back to staring at the floor.

“Peter,” Ivy cuts in, “Jason said you aren’t...gay?”

Jason looks at me, and then at Ivy and Nadia, “Um…”

“He lied,” I cut in.

“Oh,” Ivy nods.

“Are you guys…?”

“Yup.” We say it at once, both fast and awkward and mildly miserable.

There’s a heavy silence for a second, but then Nadia sighs and melodramatically throws her arm around Jason.

“I, for one, am relieved.” she says it loud and he almost jumps, “Honestly. I thought you were going to end up with Ivy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ivy rolls her eyes, and Nadia keeps going.

“No, really,” she looks at Ivy and slaps Jason’s shoulder, “Jacie here is kind of a dick, so it’s only fair,” she gestures at me, “that he gets more dick.”

I snort, and I see Jason smile.

“No, listen, Jason’s always been _top_ of the class, so it just makes sense…”

“Nadia!” I try to yell but I’m laughing.

“-No no, see. Peter. You’re the one that really gave that away. That’s on you.”

“That’s not the only thing on him,” Ivy cuts in, and she and Nadia laugh, and Jason and I look at each other and we’re laughing - and yes, everything is still shit, but I get why Jason went to Nadia when he panicked.

“Seriously though,” Ivy smiles and bumps me with her shoulder, “you guys are cute.”

“Really?” I can feel myself turning red, “thanks.”

“Yes, just so sweet,” Nadia interjects, frowning. “But it’s plan time.”


	5. Jason

**Jason**

By the time I’m sitting across from my parents in Father Flynn’s crypt of an office, I know I’m deeply fucked.

Nadia never thought of a plan.

To give her credit, she tried really, really hard. But the best one involved me and Peter just, absolutely bailing to Ivy’s lesbian aunts’ house, and I don’t think Ivy was being serious.

It’s still a good backup plan. If we need it. Hopefully we won’t, but Clare is going to be here in probably fifteen minutes, and it’s already game over for me - so an only sort-of-serious backup plan is better than nothing.

I glance at my mom. Her hair’s tied up in a hundred worried curls, her half-eyed smile questioning me from under them. I don’t look at my dad.

I’m thinking that Father told them over the phone, so they’ve already had time to figure out how to specifically pull my skin off my bones. They’ll wait until after Father kicks me out of school and then drag my ass home.

“Jason,” Father starts, “do you have something to tell your parents?”

Oh god. He didn’t tell them. They don’t know.

Shit.

“Nope.”

“Jason.” He says it like he’s my actual father, and I sigh.

“Of course. I have to confess, I’m wildly in love with sister Chantelle.”

I mean, I’m fucked anyway. Might as well.

Father turns to my parents, “Jason told me last night, outside the seal of confession, that he is struggling with same sex attraction.”

‘Struggling with same sex attraction?’ Dear god. That makes it sound like nothing, but also so much more than it is.

“He what?” It’s my mom. She sounds horrified.

I just sort of sit here.

My mom turns to me, “Jason, is that true?”

“I - I, um…” I should just lie. I’m gonna lie. “Yeah?”

Fuck me in the ass.

When my dad speaks, he’s loud, “Jason, what the hell?!”

I stare at Father's polished cedar desk.

“Calm down,” continues Father, “don’t mourn yet. We can still fix this.”

Mourn? What are they going to do, go through the five stages of grief? It’s not like I fucking died.

“There is reparative therapy. There is a group two towns over, in-”

I interrupt, “Wait, like, conversion therapy?”

“Yes, like conversion therapy. It’s incredibly effective…” he keeps going.

Shit.

I never thought about that. Like, it probably is a way out. A way to fix...this. Me. A much better plan than trying to stick my hand up Ivy’s shirt.

Maybe instead of kicking my ass, my parents will try to help me. Maybe father is trying to help me, maybe the therapy people will be able to heal me. And then I wouldn’t be so...broken, or gross, or whatever, and I could just go to college at Notre Dame. Marry a pretty girl. Be normal.

Maybe I wouldn’t go to hell when I die.

Peter’s not going to go to hell, though. Or, at least, I can’t imagine so.

So would I go to hell?

Do I even want to be straight?

I know I don’t want everyone to hate me - I don’t even care if anyone loves me at this point, I just desperately want them to not hate me - but do I actually want to be straight?

Because what if I do this therapy thing and it works? Because then there’s no more Peter. And to some extent, there’s also no reason to watch baseball on TV, and Chris Hemsworth would be sort of pointless. All the growing up I had to do to figure this out wouldn't matter, and neither would coming out to Ivy or Nadia.

And I wouldn’t have Peter anymore, and his stupid blue sunrise eyes.

Father is still explaining what they do in ‘reparative therapy,’ but I interrupt.

“I don’t - I don’t want to do that.”

“What?” It’s my mom again.

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Jason-” God, Father’s so condescending, “we have two options here: you can go to reparative therapy, or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the school.”

“What?” I ask this time, and my voice is smaller than I meant it to be.

“Jason, if you refuse to repent, and get well from this...sickness, we can’t have you around the other students. You’re a bad influence, and we can’t have a senior boy, someone who is inherently in a leadership position, modeling a homosexual lifestyle.”

“Modeling a…” my voice gets even smaller, “I’m valedictorian, you can’t kick me out.”

His voice is a warning, “Jason…”

I glance at my mom, then my dad, then at Father Flynn.

“Jason,” it’s my dad, and I can hear the carefully restrained rage in his voice. “You are going to therapy.”

I look back at him, “no.”

Father jumps back in, “If you refuse to go, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave St. Cecilias.”

I try to sound calm, “then expel me.”

My dad jumps up and I jump up after him, and then he’s an inch from my face, anger boiling out of his eyes.

“You’re an embarrassment.”

I feel an angry sob rising in my throat but I swallow it, “Yup.”

“You aren’t welcome in my house.”

“Alright.”

I hear my mother gasp from somewhere in the background, but she doesn’t say anything.

There’s practically fire roiling off my father, “Jason, I will beat your ass until you can’t fucking move, and -”

I square my chin and stare at him. “You know what dad? Fucking try me. Cuz, I’m not - I’m not twelve anymore. I’m taller than you, and I’m stronger than you - I’ll knock the shit out of you and then you’ll have to go back to your preppy-ass law firm and tell them all you got your ass handed to you by your faggot son.”

I feel so tall and dizzy that I think I might come unstuck from the ground. Or vomit.

The tectonic planes behind my dad’s expression shift and crash and explode, and I know that I’m shaking, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d fight back.

He starts slowly, “get the fuck out.”

I stare at his stone-wall eyes, and then glance at my mom - as if she would say anything.

“Get the fuck out of this office!”

I jump because he’s shaking. I glance again at Father and at my mom, then turn and walk out, slamming the door behind me.

As I walk away, I can hear them start yelling again though the door.

Fuck.

What now?

Because the ‘Ivy’s lesbian aunts’ thing was mostly of a joke, and now I’m actually homeless.

I turn the corner and I see Clare for a second, and then a flash of red hair and Peter’s hugging me.

Apparently he was sitting out here, waiting his turn.

They probably heard all of it.

Shit.

He has his head buried in my shoulder, and Clare gets up - she’s crying. God. This isn’t how she should have found out, and I’m about to open my mouth to say so, but then she throws herself at me and sobs.

“Claire?”

She pulls herself up, and takes my hand and takes Peters hand, “Jason…” she hiccups, “you can come stay with us this summer, okay?”

“What?”

I glance at Peter and he looks like he’s been crying too, but he looks happy, sort of. Also very scared. Like, just as shaky as I am.

It’s fair. He’s probably about to be expelled.

“You can stay with us this summer. And also for the rest of the school year. I -” she stops to breath, “I’m withdrawing Peter from St. Cecilias, and he’s going to finish his senior year at - at a public school. And Jason, you can - you can come too. If you’d like.”

“Really?” shit, I’m going to cry too.

Claire nods, “Of course. Separate rooms though. You boys are going to be in separate rooms.”

We both nod because seperate rooms is a hell of a lot better than homeless.

“I might not,” she chokes a little, “I might not condone this,” she gestures to us, “But I certainly don’t condone that,” she points to the yelling still coming from Father Flynn's office.

I hear people running down the hall behind us, and turn to see a blur of Nadia and Ivy.

Nadia’s hand is on my arm, “Hola mon ami. Did they excommunicate you yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Mom and dad kick you out too?”

I swallow, “yep.”

She nods somberly.

“Peter?”

“Not yet.”

Claire jumps in, “No one’s excommunicating Peter.”

Nadia smiles, “No one’s excommunicating Jason. Well, hopefully.”

“What?”

Nadia winks at me, and Ivy smiles like she could grind a man into a bar of soap.

God. They are a lot scarier teamed up.

We walk around the corner with them, and watch them burst into Father’s office.

Nadia goes first, at my mom: “Did you kick Jason out?”

My mom crosses her arms and nods.

“Cool. I’m leaving too. I want you to know that I’m going to drop out of high school and be homeless and bear a drug dealer’s baby. That’s my new five year plan.”

My parents blink at her, stunned.

Ivy goes next, but she addresses Father Flynn: “I’d like you to know I’m withdrawing from St. Cecelia's. Immediately.”

They both turn around and stomp back over to us.

I’m about to tell them it’s a terrible, awful plan, and I think Claire is going to beat me to it, when Lucas, Matt, and Zach rush into the hall.

Lucas is notably out of breath, but he stops and explains, “Everybody else is coming. I ran around the whole campus. We have the whole senior class, and a bunch of juniors and sophomores.”

I stare at him.

“What?” I hear Peter squeak.

Lucas throws his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “I did blackmail a lot of them.”

He glanced suddenly at Claire, dropping his hand. “Ms. Simmons. Nice to see you.”

He nods, and Zach nods a little, and then they stomp up to Father Flynn as well.

Lucas goes first, “I’m dropping out if you kick out Jason and Peter.”

“Me too,” continues Zach.

Matt glances at Ivy, and she shoots him a look that could turn a human dick into pepperoni. He sighs and turns back to Father.

“Listen, I’m not a fag-”

“Matt,” Ivy growls.

“Okay, listen,” he continues. “You can’t expel the valedictorian. I’m the salutatorian, and if you kick him out, I’ll get his spot. And that’d be dumb. There’s no point competing if you’re just going to have it handed to you because your competition's…” he glances back at Ivy, “in love...with a boy. So yeah. Kick them out and I’ll drop out too.”

Father Flynn just sort of blinks at him. So do my parents. Hell, so do I.

He rolls his eyes and walks back over to us, but by the time he’s coming back, half of our class is there. And there’s Kyra (whose face is amazing, I was wrong, her face is fucking amazing) and even Diane, who’s of the same opinion as Matt but still helpful.

And then the rest of out class comes, and then juniors and some sophomores, and even a little freshman girl (who was alone, heroic, and tiny, and who Lucas certainly didn’t blackmail).

Teachers come too. There’s the sixth grade teacher, Brother Murphy, and our science teacher, Sister Honey, and Sister Chantelle yells and threatens to quit.

Holy shit.  
Is it awful to say that this isn’t what I expected? Because it’s not.

It’s - it’s not even that they just don’t hate us. I didn’t realize so many of our friends, our class, our teachers - I didn’t think so many of them would stand up for us like this.

I didn’t realize so many people cared - or, could care. After they knew. After we stopped pretending to be what they wanted.

Like, Peter has draped himself over me, I have my arm wrapped around him, in the hall. In front of literally everyone. And they still care.

Nadia leans her hand on my shoulder, “Jason, are you crying?”

“What? No.” I say, wiping my face with my sleeve. “I just - I didn’t expect this.”

She laughs, “It’s fine to cry, you know, because you’re gay now.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck off.” I laugh too, but I am certainly crying at this point.

Lucas comes up and slaps me on the back, “Jason, buddy, I never would have guessed it, but love you man.” He turns, “Peter, man, I love you too - don't take this the wrong way - but when Nadia bust into my room a half hour ago and told me what was happening, hearing you're gay was like, the least shocking thing ever.”

Peter smiles and bites his lip, “I was that obvious?”

Ivy cuts in, “Peter, sophomore year your winter coat was cheetah-print.”

“I was being ironic.”

“No you weren’t,” she laughs.

Lucas continues, “you brought a bunch of littlest pet shop your first year.”

I glance at Claire, expecting her to bury her face in her hands, but she’s just laughing along with Peter.

Lucas keeps going, “like, we were in 7th grade dude. And you had like, a bag of them.”

Nadia jumps back in, “you gave a speech in Com class about how the church should treat the LGBTQ community better.”

“But,” giggles Peter, “I said in the speech that I wasn’t gay.”

“Peter.”

He’s properly laughing now, “I know.”

Matt jumps in, coy, “I’ve known for ages, I saw you guys at the…” he glances at Clare - “school dance.” He looks over Peter and me, “I didn’t guess before that though. I don’t think I would have.”

Nadia sighs deeply and theatrically, “Matt. Matt. My child. That is because your a dumbass. Do you know what posters those boys have in their room? Thor: A Dark World and Rocky Horror Picture Show. Yeah. Chris Hemsworth’s cascading locks, and Rocky Horror Picture Show. There was never any way either of them was heterosexual.”

Peter’s laughing so hard he’s red, which is good, because I don’t think we’re going to live down the gay jokes.

We might get to graduate, though.


	6. Peter

**Peter**

We did graduate from St. Cecilia's. Honestly, in the end, it was out of spite - but we did it.

I cried at graduation, and Jason put exactly twenty-seven subtle gay jokes in his speech, mostly because he could. None of the parents got them, but the whole two front rows of teenagers were struggling to hide their cackles, which was beautiful. And he did spend the summer with me (in separate rooms, of course).

And he came to California with me. Because he loves me.

I didn’t expect that part.

I have a dorm room and he has a sketchy, tragic, horrible apartment, and he’s going to try to get into Berkeley next year.

We don’t have a corgi yet, but we’re working on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Happy ending :) 
> 
> OKay not to be Ms Over-Share but I want to say why I wrote this: 
> 
> I got into Bare a little over a year ago, when my roommate and I started going out. I was confronting the fact that I'm ragingly gay, and a Christian, and that a lot of people were going to be very pissed. It was stressful and awful and lovely at the same time (because I was in love), and I was trying so hard not to be suicidal (because I was in love), but I was. And the main reason I liked Bare so much was Jason, and the ending. 
> 
> I think I sort of though that's how I'd end up. 
> 
> But it's been a year. A long, weird year. And I'm still gay, and still a Christian, and yes, a lot of people were really fucking pissed, but it was worth it. I'm still dating my roommate, and we have a little apartment, and two pumpkin-colored cats, and we stayed up until 4 am the other night watching Marvel's Runaways. And it's lovely.
> 
> It's just, I got this really happy ending I didn't expect at all, and I wanted Jason to have one too. Even though he's pretend, so it sort of doesn't matter. 
> 
> But he's pretend in the play too, so who's to say this ending isn't just as real?


End file.
